


Five Times Sam Ran into That Bearded, Brooklyn Hipster in Artists Alley and One Time He Didn’t

by the_genderman



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, And relationship too, Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Comic Con Artists Alley, M/M, Meet-Cute, Steve Rogers is a dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: “Person A has an art panel at a con while person B is an avid con visiter. Person B always goes to person A’s panel since they like [whatever A is selling] so much and the two chat frequently about the shows they love and A’s stuff. After a few cons A just expects B to show up and looks forward to it.How things continue is up to you.”From:The Prompt





	1. 2009

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written over the course of four days, _and_ it's something like 9K words, so it's my fastest longfic ever (and yes, for me, 9K is long). It was briefly beta-read by [mrs_d](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d) when I got into the beginning of chapter 6 (the +1) and was suddenly like "Have I hit my "I hate everything I write" wall or is it actually bad?" Ze made some suggestions, most of which I took into consideration. All errors and unconvincing dialogue are my own.
> 
> For this fic, I’m using the “official” Marvel timeline that says the Battle of New York happened in 2008, not 2012 when The Avengers was released. I had to, in order to make this timeline work. Also, I’m going with Steve did not get unmasked during the BoNY, so he’s got a little less of a public recognition thing going on, hence why he’s able to go to a comics convention with only a hipster beard and bad sunglasses and a hoodie as a disguise and not get recognized.
> 
> Also, considering it’s a Sam/Steve fic, I don’t feel like it’s a huge spoiler or anything to tell y’all that “Ian” is the pseudonym Steve is using for himself for his incognito con-outings.
> 
> Also, Baltimore Comic-Con and AwesomeCon are real conventions, but the versions in here are completely fictionalized.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The panel wasn’t supposed to start for another fifteen minutes, but the room was already packed. On one side of him, his current roommate Jesse (who had dragged him, not entirely unwillingly, on a day-trip up to Baltimore Comic-Con). On the other side, some bearded Brooklyn (judging by his accent) hipster with stupid, blue Bono sunglasses and a hoodie with khakis. Sunglasses. Indoors. Probably some bandwagon fan who, now that Captain America was back, was trying to capitalize on his neighborhood’s most famous resident’s newest comic series. (No, Sam shook his head. Don’t gatekeep. Everyone has to start somewhere; so what if some hipster’s getting into Captain America only because of the Battle of New York?)

The panel was focusing on the revival of Sam’s favorite comic books growing up (never mind that the series was out of print, he read and collected every issue he could find), “Captain America and the Howling Commandos.” Sam was really curious to see what direction the new series would take. Would it remain set in World War II like the original series had been? Would the writers modernize the series, try to bring Cap and the Commandos into a modern war? Sam really hoped they wouldn’t. War was war, but he could hardly see how anyone could set the series in Afghanistan or Iraq and keep the same, ‘fighting the good fight’ feeling the original series had. 

(Sam also didn’t think he’d be ready to read a series set in Afghanistan; that was _far_ too recent memory for him. And what if it was? What if that’s what they’d be showing on the big screens behind the panelists? Larger-than-life comics panels, glorifying a far less than glorious war, bringing back memories that he had come here to try to forget about for even a few hours? He hadn’t considered that. What if they did and he couldn’t handle it? He’d picked a center seat for the best view, not thinking about what if he had to leave? What would people think if he couldn’t handle it and had to make a quick exit? Which side would he pick? Would he climb over Jesse, who’d almost certainly follow him out to check on him, missing the panel he knew he wanted to see? Would he climb over the Bearded Brooklyn Hipster and risk getting written about in some angry blog screed about rude con-goers?)

An elbow to the side brought Sam out of his preoccupation. “Hey. Hey, Sam. Panel’s starting,” Jesse whispered. “You ok?”

Sam nodded and smiled and gave Jesse a thumbs up to let him know he was ok. Sam lifted his head to the stage, focusing on the speakers. He was gonna be ok.

\------------

Well, maybe Sam would be a lot more ok if the Bearded Brooklyn Hipster would stop making under-his-breath comments about the questionable historical accuracy of the series. Yeah, ok, Cap’s a real guy, but anything ‘based off of a true story’ was gonna have some inaccuracies, especially if it made for a more exciting plot. As long as it wasn’t libelous or easily disproven, Sam supposed. So what if they condensed a mission and added more Nazis to punch? People _liked_ Nazi-punching, let them have their satisfying comic book violence.

Well, maybe Sam would have to find his way out of the panel room before the Q-and-A session began. No way was he going to get stuck listening to mister ‘I was into historical accuracy before it was cool’ try to skewer the writers over tiny details.

\--------------

Sam was _not_ able to get out before the Q-and-A, but thankfully the Bearded Brooklyn Hipster kept his mouth shut.

\----------------

“So, where to next?” Jesse asked as he and Sam wove their way out through the Captain America panel audience. “Wanna check out another panel? There’s supposed to be one about the impact of fanfic starting in five minutes. I kinda wanna check that one out.”

“You go, that’s not really my thing,” Sam replied. “Go enjoy yourself. Get some writing tips.”

“You sure you’re gonna be ok? You really spaced out back there, I just wanna be sure. Text me if anything’s wrong, and I’ll come find you,” Jesse said, starting to turn towards the fanfic panel auditorium, but hesitating a little, wanting to make sure his friend really _was_ ok.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Sam said, giving Jesse a friendly shove. “Go get your seat. I’ll probably go hang out in Artists Alley.”

“Alright, sure. Meet up at the funnel cake cart in an hour?”

“Will do.”

\---------------

Sam made his way through Artists Alley in a somewhat aimless wander, up and down the aisles of tables, only half noticing the keychains, prints, and original drawings for sale. It’s not like he expected _every_ table to have Captain America stuff for sale, but he thought there might be more than what he was seeing so far. A few tables with Cap prints and nothing so far for any of the rest of the Commandos. Well, it was an older series only just now being brought back. He kept walking.

Fifteen leisurely minutes later and something caught Sam’s eye. Was that what it looked like? Sam approached the table. Yes, it was. Tucked in between a Justice League booth and something with zombies, was an artist’s table with a small variety of Captain America merchandise, including a set of small watercolor art cards featuring not only Captain America, but _all_ of the other Howling Commandos. Sam picked up the set and gently flipped through them, noting the quality of the stock they were hand-painted and inked onto.

“These are really good,” Sam said, striking up a conversation with the young woman behind the table. “Are they being sold individually or as a set?”

“Thanks,” the woman said. “There were sets, but they sold out pretty quickly. Those are actually my ‘testers’” (she made air quotes) “so people could get an idea of what each card would look like without having to open the packaging and handle more than one set. I mean, they’re not prints so they’re all _slightly_ different, but it gives a good enough idea of what you’d be getting. If I’d known they’d be so popular, I would have done prints instead of art cards. I mean, I love painting them, but printing lets me make more sets so more people can enjoy them. And I’m rambling. You had a question, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I was wondering if you’d be willing to sell me this set? I mean, unless you need them for references,” Sam asked and amended. “I don’t mind that they’re open, I don’t need a discount, just, they’re really good and it’s still pretty hard to find Howling Commandos stuff. I grew up reading everything I could about these guys.”

“Really? Sure, yeah, you can totally buy them. I usually sell the sets for $35, but since that one’s open and people have been touching it all day, I’ll do $25. Does that sound good?”

“$35’s fine, really. You put a lot of work into these, and I don’t want to rip you off,” Sam said, pulling his wallet out and fishing out some cash.

“Wow, thanks,” the woman said. “Enjoy your purchase!”

“I will, thanks,” Sam said, ready to get back to his aimless meander around the Artists Alley before he had to be back at the funnel cake cart.

“Aw, man, beat me to ‘em,” said an (unfortunately) familiar voice behind Sam.

Sam turned to see the Bearded Brooklyn Hipster standing there, a bit larger and more imposing than Sam would have expected from the slouchy figure in the chair next to him.

“Shoulda moved faster if you wanted these,” Sam said, making the cards into a deck and holding them just a little tighter. He was _not_ gonna get into a fight over a souvenir, he told himself.

“Yeah, I shoulda,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said. “But you clearly saw ‘em first, so I didn’t want to pressure you. I mean, I kinda _hoped_ you’d decide against buying ‘em, but obviously not. You beat me to ‘em fair and square.”

Well, Bearded Brooklyn Hipster was politer than Sam had expected. He relaxed his hand.

“Yeah, I’ve been a fan of the Howling Commandos since I was a kid,” Sam found himself explaining.

“Just the Commandos?” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster asked. (Sam thought there might be a hint of sass in his voice.)

Sam shrugged. “I mean, Cap’s not bad, but they’re a team, him and the Commandos, and so much focus was on him, what he did after Project Rebirth, and not so much on what his team did without having been enhanced.”

“Very good points,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said, nodding as he spoke. “Too many people want to focus entirely on Cap this, and Cap that, and completely ignore the rest of the team. Captain America might have been the face of the team, but they were a _team_. He needed them.”

“Big fan of the comics, huh?” Sam asked.

“Actually, no,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said, ducking his head and looking almost embarrassed. “I never really got into them. I’m more of an amateur historian, myself. And I should probably apologize to you for talking during the panel. You were seated next to me, weren’t you?” Sam nodded. Bearded Brooklyn Hipster continued. “It’s just, that one spread of panels they had on the screen that they were talking about, it wasn’t Captain America who found that secret tunnel in the HYDRA base, it was Private Morita’s discovery.”

“So that whole scene really happened?” Sam asked, maybe a little skeptical. “I thought by now, they would’ve had to make stuff up to keep writing World War II stories.”

“I bet they _will_ end up making stuff up,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster replied. “But a lot of the Howling Commandos’ missions have been declassified even since the end of the old series. The writers have got plenty of new material to work from if they’re willing to put in some research.”

Sam tried to look politely interested. He _was_ actually interested in the real history behind the Howling Commandos, but at the same time, this was starting to feel like the beginning of a long lecture and he didn’t have the patience to stand around and listen to a self-proclaimed ‘amateur historian’ go into all the ways his favorite comic series got things wrong. On one hand, give credit where credit’s due, but on the other hand, the middle of Artists Alley was not the time or place.

“But I’m holding you up, aren’t I?” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said. “You’ve got that ‘please stop talking to me’ look. Sorry. I’ll let you go. Enjoy your cards and the rest of your day.”

And with that, Bearded Brooklyn Hipster turned and disappeared into the crowd. Sam stood in place for a bit longer, thinking about how weird of a conversation that had actually been, and turned back into the crowd, himself. He put the Bearded Brooklyn Hipster out of his mind, slipped the cards into a safe pocket, and decided to get to the funnel cake cart a little early. He deserved a treat.


	2. 2010

“Hey, Sam, glad you could make it!” Jesse said, holding his arms out to welcome his friend and former roommate. “You’ve met Carla, right?”

Sam said a polite hello to Carla, Jesse’s girlfriend (correction, fiancée now) and shook the hand she offered.

“Long time no see, man, how are you holding up?” Jesse asked, leading the way into the conference center. 

“Eh, so-so,” Sam said, making sure his guest badge was clipped visibly to his lanyard. “How’s life in Baltimore?”

“Baltimore’s good. Carla’s in Baltimore, which automatically makes it better than Washington. Are you still dating Travis?”

“Nah. We moved in together and I found out that he’d rather buy new underwear every week than wash them. It was weird. We broke up before too much longer, irreconcilable differences and all that, and I found an emergency roommate to pick up the other half of the rent. New roomie’s not as cool as you, but we’re managing.”

“Sorry about the breakup, but it sounds like you dodged a bullet there. And no one’s as cool as me, right, Carla?” Jesse joked. Carla rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

“Thanks. So, what’s the panel plan?” Sam asked, opening his program and changing the subject. “Batman? The new comic series based on the Avengers? Walking Dead? Webcomics?”

“Well, Carla wants to see the Batman panel and Artists Alley, and I’m ok with whatever she wants to see. What about you?” Jesse asked.

“I’ll see whatever you want,” Sam shrugged. “I guess, maybe the Avengers panel if we can make it. I’ve pretty much only read the Captain America and the Howling Commandos comics. The Avengers aren’t quite the same, but I suppose character continuity’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jesse replied.

“According to the program, the Avengers panel starts in fifteen minutes,” Carla said, “so if we want to get seats, we’d better head over now.”

\-----------------------

Sam found himself in Artists Alley alone. Not Jesse and Carla’s fault, though. Jesse had started to feel a headache coming on near the end of the Avengers panel, popped a couple ibuprofen, and barely an hour later, Carla was driving him home with a full-blown migraine. He had apologized to Sam for abandoning him at the con, but Sam wouldn’t hear it. Go home and sleep your migraine off, we’ll catch up again some other time. Baltimore’s not that far from Washington.

So Sam wandered the aisles, seeing what kinds of art was for sale, and seeing how it differed (or didn’t) from what he had seen the year before. He stopped short, ignoring the complaint of the guy who had been walking far too closely behind him, and just stared for a moment. Bearded Brooklyn Hipster was back and he had an art table now? It _had_ to be him. No one else would be rocking the same, terrible combination of lumberjack beard and Bono glasses. So he was an amateur artist as well as an amateur historian? Curious, Sam walked over to the table.

“Hi, I remember you,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said as soon as Sam stepped up to his table. “The Howling Commandos fan, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Sam said, unsure how else to respond. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, you’re an artist, too?”

“Well, kind of,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said with a self-deprecating shrug. “I drew a lot as a kid, but I let it get away from me for a long time. Seeing the Howling Commandos art at the con last year actually was what got me thinking that I should start up again. I mean, I’m not as good as the girl you bought those cards from, but I think I’m passable. I’ve made a few sales.”

“What’s your best-seller?” Sam asked, flipping through the tray of prints. Action images of the Howling Commandos and the Avengers, some group images, and some logos for people who might want something a little simpler up on their wall.

“Right now, Iron Man’s a hot ticket,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said, sounding a little aggrieved. “I mean, I’m sure he’s a good guy, but he’s just so _flashy_.”

“And Captain America’s not flashy?” Sam joked back.

“Well, if he’d get a better suit than whatever that thing he was wearing in the Battle of New York, then yeah,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster replied. “He can still keep the red, white, and blue without looking quite so much like the flag mutated and grew limbs.”

“So what would you have him wear?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t presume,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said. “I mean, I’ve got ideas, but I’m sure the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whoever’s actually employing him has the last word in what his costume looks like. They don’t look to comics fans for help. It must already be so weird to have a comic series about him. How does it affect him? What kind of private life does he live? Does he get a private life or is it all doing photo ops, trying not to get mobbed by fans who want to know who Steve Rogers really is under the mask, and occasionally saving the world from aliens or terrorists or whatever? Does he get any input into the comics’ plots? The Howling Commandos series is straight-forward enough, but have you seen some of the stuff the Avengers series is doing? Last week’s issue had them fighting shape-shifting aliens in a secret moonbase. I mean, it’s entertaining, but come on. Although, maybe they can’t use actual Avengers plots. Tony Stark’s probably got a pack full of lawyers ready to pounce on them if they start getting too close to real Avengers missions or something.”

“You picked up the comics after all?” Sam asked, not quite ready to remark on the rest of Bearded Brooklyn Hipster’s commentary. There was a lot to unpack there. 

“Yeah. Better late than never, right?” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster grinned. “Thought I’d add some fun, comics action into my historical reading. And I got into The Avengers from that, I wanted to see how they’d bring Cap into the modern era. The Avengers. It’s a fun series, but it’s certainly _not_ the Howling Commandos. Have you read The Avengers? If so, what do you think of it compared to the Howling Commandos?”

“I’ve read a few issues,” Sam replied. “I like it well enough, but the team doesn’t seem to have the same camaraderie as the Commandos did. But maybe having personality clashes on the team is what sells comics? I don’t know, I pretty much only read the one series as a kid, and watched the Batman cartoons on TV. What was your favorite cartoon growing up?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “but I really liked Snow White.”

“Snow White? Wow, old school. Did you always want to be a historian?”

“Well, my best friend’s little sister really liked the whole princess story, so we ended up watching it a lot when we hung out. And I liked the animation. I’d kind of hoped maybe I could get a job with Disney, but that didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, Disney’s impossible to break into, especially for 2-D animation. Hardly any big studios do it anymore. But,” Sam said, turning to glance over his shoulder, “I seem to be holding up the line. Lemme buy this print,” he held up a scene of the Howling Commandos resting after a mission, “and I’ll stop monopolizing your time.”

“It was a good chat,” Bearded Brooklyn Hipster said, leaning over to unlock his cashbox. “I mean it. And my name’s Ian. I don’t think I caught yours?”

“Sam,” Sam said, handing over the money for the print.

“Well, it was good meeting you, Sam. Again. Enjoy your print and have a good rest of the day.”

“Yeah, you too.”


	3. 2011

Well, with a brand new baby, Jesse and Carla couldn’t make it out to the convention this year, but they said Sam was still more than welcome to come up and visit them and see little Sarah, who was good at looking cute and making distressing amounts of poop, but other than that, not a whole lot else, and was _definitely_ not ready for convention atmosphere. So Sam stood at the hall mirror, checked his shirt for any stray baby vomit, decided it was clean, and left Jesse and Carla and Sarah for the afternoon to wander around looking at comic book art. Oh, and if you see any good Poison Ivy art (emphasis on _good_ , not just eye-candy) pick it up, and Carla will pay you back.

Sam found himself, once again, in the increasingly familiar position of wandering up and down the Artists Alley aisles of Baltimore Comic-Con. As he mulled over a small Poison Ivy print, a familiar voice caught his ear.

“Sam? Hey, you’re back again, nice to see you!”

Sam looked up towards the source of the voice. Bearded Brooklyn Hipster. Ian? Was that his name? “I’ll take it,” Sam said to the seller of the Poison Ivy print, swiping his credit card in the phone reader device, and putting the print in the canvas tote he had brought along this year, prepared for purchases. He walked the two tables over and stopped in front of Ian(?).

“I had an idea, and since you’re here, and we’ve had a couple good talks, I wanted to run this by you,” Ian said, folding his hands on the table and smiling up at Sam. Or, at least Sam was pretty sure he was smiling under that beard. And those Bono glasses. Well, there was no accounting for taste.

“You want to run an idea by me?” Sam asked, reflexively pointing at his chest. “I mean, yeah, we’ve talked, but we’re still kind of strangers. Wouldn’t it be better asking your friends about whatever new idea you’ve got?”

“Well, that’s kind of the point. You _are_ still somewhat of a stranger, and therefore less likely to try to spare my feelings if my idea turns out to be a bad one. You look honest and trustworthy, Sam. _And_ you’re a Howling Commandos fan, so you _can’t_ be a bad guy. Shall I share my idea?” Ian asked, anticipatory excitement coloring his voice.

“Alright, hit me,” Sam replied.

“So, get this,” Ian began. “What if, next year, I set up a charity raffle? On Saturday I’ll promote the raffle. Sunday morning, I sell tickets. Then early Sunday afternoon, I pick a winner, meet with them here at my table, and I design them a superhero based off of whatever they want their powers to be, superhero name, origin, favorite colors, whatever. I mean, there would have to be a caveat that they’d still be on site when I announce the winner, since I don’t live here in Baltimore and might find it kind of hard to make time outside the con, work, and all. I won’t be able to get them into a comic series, but I’m a quick study, and if I bring my brushes and paints (if I use thin layers of acrylic almost like watercolor, they dry fairly quickly), I could certainly get something done that they could take home and show people ‘look, that’s me if I were a superhero.’ What do you think? Could it work?”

“It’s a nice idea, but it’s a _really_ compressed timeline,” Sam said. “Could you maybe set up the raffle earlier, like do it online, set up a page, then contact the winner by email? Make sure you know what day they they’ll be here so you can block out the time you need.”

“Good point,” Ian hmmed. “I’m not the most internet savvy guy. I mean, I’m not grandpa ‘thinks the Facebook status bar is The Google,’ but I’ve never tried to set up anything like that before. And wouldn’t a raffle count as ‘online gambling’ since you’re not guaranteed to get anything in return for your contribution?”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Sam admitted. “That might cause some legal problems. But, still, compressed timeline.”

“Yeah. That _is_ still an issue.”

Sam and Ian were both silent for a moment.

“Sorry for popping your bubble,” Sam said. You were so excited to share your idea and I just shot it down.”

“Don’t apologize, Sam, you didn’t do anything wrong. I asked your honest opinion, you gave it, and my idea isn’t as good as I thought it was. I asked for your help, and you helped me. Well, I’ve got all winter to figure something else out. If I can, great. If I can’t, I can’t,” Ian shrugged. “But, out of curiosity, if you were a superhero, what kind of power or powers would you want? What would you want your superhero name to be?”

“Oh, hm,” Sam said, shifting a bit on his feet. “Power? As a kid, I’d always dreamed of flying, so I’ll pick flight. Name? Well, I would have said something hawk-related since Red-Tailed Hawks are some of my favorite birds, but Hawkeye got that moniker first.”

“Flight’s cool,” Ian agreed. “What’s your second favorite bird?”

“Peregrine Falcons, but I don’t know if I should use the name ‘Falcon’.”

“You said ‘shouldn’t’ instead of ‘couldn’t’? May I ask why?”

“I used to be in the Air Force, but I’m not anymore.”

“Air Force Falcons, I see. Well, if you don’t want to use it, I certainly won’t make you, but they don’t own the copyright on ‘Falcon’ as a name or mascot. What’s your third favorite bird?”

“I admire how smart crows are, but there’s no way in hell I’m putting ‘crow’ anywhere _near_ my fictional superhero name.”

“Good point. So, hawks it is. Maybe work ‘red’ into the name? ‘Redtail’ doesn’t have a good ring to it, but maybe ‘Redhawk’?” Ian asked.

“Nah,” Sam said, shaking his head. “That’s a common mascot ‘fix’ for schools that used _that_ slur for Native Americans as their mascot.”

“Oof,” Ian said, exhaling heavily. “Yeah, that’s not great, either. Um, maybe ‘Redwing’?”

“Not bad,” Sam agreed. “So if I were a superhero, my codename would be Redwing (unless I figure out something better) and I’d be able to fly. What about you? What would _your_ power and codename be?”

“Hmm,” Ian pondered, stroking his beard. “Maybe the ability to control electricity. Like Thor, but without the hammer. Thor’s pretty cool, but his powers are seemingly tied to his hammer, and if he throws it really far away, then he’s temporarily reliant only on his own strength until it comes back. Which, I understand is pretty impressive, but nothing compared to that hammer of his. So, power, electricity. Name, Ion.”

“‘Ion’ like ‘Ian’? A play on words, or did you just freeze up and pick the first thing that came into your head?” Sam laughed.

“Hey, I can draw, but I never said I was any good at names. Unless I actually am,” Ian laughed back.

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that. Well, it was nice chatting, but I should probably get going again. I wasn’t able to set aside as much time this year for the con and there’s a few more tables I’d like to check out before I have to go,” Sam said, holding out his hand.

“Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry for monopolizing your time. Do you think you’ll be back next year?” Ian replied, accepting Sam’s handshake.

“I certainly hope I’ll be back.”


	4. 2012

Sam sat in his car in the convention center parking lot, thinking about how this was his fourth straight year at Baltimore Comic-Con. Four years now. And he couldn’t entirely say it was only the comics that kept him coming. The Avengers series was going strong, but Captain America and the Howling Commandos got canceled again. No, he was pretty sure, this year, he was coming to see Ian and his art table again. Sam was slightly embarrassed to admit it to himself, but he thought he might have a _little_ crush on Ian. Even if he did have horrible taste in fashion. Bono glasses. _Seriously_. He could forgive the lumberjack beard, he could even forgive his khakis, but not the Bono glasses.

Taking a deep breath, Sam held it, then exhaled slowly, calming himself. This was nothing. He fought in Afghanistan, he flew dangerous missions in an active warzone. He should be able to walk into a convention center and hold a conversation with a guy he might have a crush on. Emphasis on ‘might.’ He pulled the keys out of the ignition, unlocked his door, and stepped out into the parking lot. He grabbed his stuff, shut his car, locked the doors, (inhale, exhale) and walked into the building.

Two panels later (one of which he hadn’t actually meant to sit through), and Sam found himself walking entirely too nervously towards Artists Alley. Come on, Sam, he said to himself. Nothing’s changed. Ian’s still the same guy he’s been the previous three years, there’s no reason to be nervous. There’s also no reason to let this maybe-crush go any further, either. You know him, but you don’t _know_ him. You know he doesn’t live in Baltimore, but you don’t know where he _does_ live. He’s originally from Brooklyn, the accent says that much, but if he still lived in New York, then there would be no reason for him to come all the way to Baltimore for a comics convention. You don’t know his last name, you don’t even know if he’s _single_ , much less if he’d even be interested in dating you. All you know is he feels like a good guy and you both like the Howling Commandos.

Sam made a quick detour to the funnel cake cart for some emergency sugar (to make himself even more jittery? He didn’t really think that one through…) before entering Artists Alley. Munching his funnel cake, he walked slowly down the aisles, glancing at the tables he was passing. And there was Ian, four tables away, talking to a young fan. Sam briefly considered ducking aside before Ian could notice him coming, but no, he wouldn’t do that. He faced his fears head-on. Always had, always will. The young fan picked out a small print, showed her dad, paid, and the two of them headed over to the next booth. Sam walked towards Ian’s table.

“Hey, stranger,” Sam said, keeping his voice light and steady.

“Sam!” Ian said, his face lighting up. “Oh, perfect. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Sam asked, surprised.

“Yep, it’s right back here somewhere,” Ian said, rising from his chair and poking around in the collection of cases and folders that he transported his art in. “Ah, yeah, here it is.” 

Ian returned to the table holding a big sheet of canvasboard, image towards himself. 

“What do you think?” he asked, revealing the art to Sam.

Sam’s eyebrows jumped. That was _him_! Painted as a superhero, just like the conversation he and Ian had had last year, that he had forgotten all about until just now. That was _him_ , in a red and white spandex comic book superhero suit with a mask and massive, red _wings_ sprouting out of his back. “Wow” was all he managed as he reached out gingerly to take the art from Ian’s hands.

“You like it?” Ian asked expectantly.

“Yeah, wow, it’s fantastic. Did you do this all from memory or should I be worried that you’ve got photos of me stashed away somewhere?” Sam said, hoping Ian wouldn’t take the joke badly.

“No photos, don’t worry,” Ian laughed. “I’ve got a bit of a photographic memory, though.”

“A _bit_ ,” Sam said, drinking in the image and the idea. (Him! As a costumed superhero!) “You’ve got a pretty good camera up there if you did this after only having met me three times; it looks just like me. So, uh, how much do you want for it?”

“It’s a gift,” Ian said, his smile still plastered from ear to ear.

“Really? You’re just _giving_ this to me?”

“Yeah, why not? Don’t you want it?”

“I do, I love it, but we’ve only talked three times before now. I’m a stranger.”

“You’re a very nice stranger,” Ian said. “I’ve really enjoyed talking with you these past few years. And designing ‘Redwing’ was really fun for me, but he’s your superhero, so you should have him.”

“Again, thanks,” Sam said, hoping he sounded as sincere as he felt. “Let me at least buy you a beer after they let you out from behind this table. I insist.”

“Well, if you _insist_ ,” Ian said, still smiling, still happy that Sam liked his painting. “I don’t know exactly when I’ll get done, I have to pack up my table and any remaining unsold art, but if you’re willing to trade phone numbers with me, I can call you when I’m ready.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam said, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

\----------

“Now _this_ is the way to cap off a good weekend. Good art, good talks, good beer, and potato skins,” Ian said as Sam returned to their table with the beers and food.

“The potato skins don’t get to be called ‘good’?” Sam asked.

“It’s cheese, bacon, potato, and sour cream. You can’t make a bad potato skin, so I didn’t feel like they needed the modifier.”

“If you fall asleep and forget to take them out of the oven until they’ve turned into charcoal briquettes, then, yes, you can make bad potato skins.”

“The exception that proves the rule,” Ian said, grabbing a potato skin and practically submerging it in the sour cream dipping cup.

“Anyway,” Sam said, taking a swig of his beer. “You ever thought about trying to write a comic of your own? Set up a Tumblr or a Tapastic site, get your stories out there, seen by more people?”

“It had occurred to me, but I don’t know. I’m an artist, but I’ve never really been a great plot-writer, and keeping up even a weekly comic seems like it would take more time than I have available to give to it,” Ian explained. “I don’t have a set travel schedule, but I end up doing a lot of business trips for my job. Planning around them can get pretty interesting.”

“Hm, that’s fair,” Sam said, snagging a potato skin. “I don’t do a lot of travel, but more times than not I end up taking paperwork home that I didn’t get a chance to finish during official work hours.”

“Can I ask your profession?” Ian asked.

“I’m a counselor,” Sam said, keeping it slightly vague. “Not quite a psychiatrist, but along those lines. It’s not glamorous and it can get stressful, but I like the work.”

“I bet you’re a great counselor,” Ian said, raising his beer and clinking the bottle against Sam’s. “You’re easy to talk to, and you feel really trustworthy. Your clients are lucky to have you.”

“Aw, thanks,” Sam said, hoping Ian wouldn’t be able to tell he was starting to blush in the low lighting.

\------

A couple more beers and another plate of potato skins later, and the conversation had shifted back onto Ian’s art.

“No, really,” Sam was saying, the alcohol loosening him up a little. Ian let him talk, sitting quietly, just listening. “You’re a great artist, even if you didn’t get to go to art school. Put together a portfolio, and any studio would be lucky to have you. If you can’t do full-length movies, then TV cartoons. More 2-D stuff still done on TV. I mean, I get the importance of a degree, but if you can prove you’re good enough without one, then it shouldn’t be a deal-breaker. Your talent is wasted on whatever corporate business travel job you’re stuck in. I mean, look at that beard. That’s not a corporate beard, that’s a ‘let me spread my wings and fly free’ beard. The kind of beard that doesn’t put up with cubicle nonsense and ignores the ‘no plants’ rule and puts a little jade plant in the window anyway and dares upper management to get rid of it and they don’t because they know you’ll just keep getting new ones and people like a little bit of green in an office.”

\------

A few more beers later, and Sam was in full ramble mode. Deep inside, he realized it was probably in his best interest to stop talking now, but where was the fun in that? He was having a nice chat with his friend here.

“See, now that’s fair. Well, not really, but it’s a better reason than I’ve got. Too busy with your job and travel to date,” Sam said. “Me, I’m just not dating material, it seems. After Riley, I dunno, all I seemed to find were the guys with problems. Maybe secretly I wanted to fix them, but that’s not a good basis for a relationship. Maybe someday I’ll find someone, but I dunno. I dunno. Maybe if I stop looking, then I’ll find my someone. Like your Snow White, ‘someday my prince will come,’ yeah. Something like that.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Sam,” Ian said, trying to cheer him up. “You’re a great guy, and I know there’s someone out there who’ll appreciate you for you.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

“Aw, thanks,” Sam said with a grin, placing his arm flat on the table to steady himself. He glanced down, taking a moment to register the time on his watch. “Hoo, boy, look at the time. I should be getting back.”

“Here, lemme call you a cab. You shouldn’t be driving,” Ian said, standing up and scooting around the table to steady Sam as he got to his feet.

“Thanks, but I got friends can come get me. Don’t need a cab,” Sam dug his phone out and unlocked it, holding it out to Ian. “Call Jesse. He’ll come get me. You should get that cab for yourself. You don’t look it, but I don’t think you should be driving either.”

“Sure thing. I’ll wait with you for your friend and then I’ll get that cab.”

“Good deal.”


	5. 2013

Sam wasn’t deliberately eavesdropping; the group at the next table over was just talking really loudly. About how Washington was finally getting their own comics convention, so they wouldn’t have to deal with the traffic and gas money and hotel money for getting up to Baltimore or New York or anywhere else. And yeah, Sam was intrigued. He sipped his coffee, trying not to look like he was listening in. As much as he liked Baltimore Comic-Con, having a closer option was nice. Also, having an option where he might not have to worry about what he may or may not have said to Ian last September.

He hadn’t been drunk, certainly, but Sam had ended up a little tipsier than he had planned on. He and Ian had ended up chatting well into the night, slowly putting away beers and potato skins. Ian had kept drinking without looking any worse for wear, so Sam kept drinking, too. Some people and their alcohol tolerance… Sam wasn’t entirely sure what they had chatted about, but he remembered having a really good time, and possibly mentioning wanting to see Ian again, _outside_ of the Comic-Con. (Had he said that out loud?) As far as he remembered, Ian hadn’t reacted badly, but it was probably still pretty awkward for him. Four years, sure, but they were still barely more than strangers, and here was this fan of his trying to get too familiar. 

Yeah, having a con where he could focus on his fandom and not the guy he probably flirted awkwardly with, that sounded like a pretty good thing. Sam pulled out his phone and googled AwesomeCon. April. It was currently January, so he should have enough time to register and make his plans. Those dates could definitely work for him.

\-----------------

April rolled around and Sam was feeling pretty good. He had almost managed to put Ian out of his mind. He was gonna have a good time, not worry about him, and then have another five months until he’d have to worry about Baltimore again. He was gonna have a good time at AwesomeCon and nothing and no one was gonna stop him.

\------

So, of course, barely five minutes into Artists Alley and Sam heard a familiar voice call out his name.

“Sam! Hi!”

Sam turned. Yep, that was Ian. Same beard, same glasses, same hoodie… and khakis (oh jeez, he was standing up and waving now). Well, the sooner he responded the better, then people wouldn’t stare at him. He crossed the aisle to Ian’s table.

“Hey, man, didn’t expect to see you until Baltimore,” Sam began.

“Yeah, same here,” Ian replied, sitting back down again. “You made the trip down to Washington to see if AwesomeCon would live up to its name?”

“Actually, Baltimore was my day-trip. I live here in Washington,” Sam found himself admitting.

“Really? Me too,” Ian replied with a smile.

Sam wasn’t quite sure how to reply, so he just smiled back.

“Uh, anyway,” Ian said, clearing his throat and speaking more quietly. “I have my lunch break in forty-five minutes. If you wanna grab an over-priced hotdog with me, we can continue this chat somewhere a bit less busy. You look like there’s something you want to say but aren’t, probably because there’s too many people around right now.”

“Sure,” Sam said with a shrug. “I’ll meet you back here and we can go from there?”

“Sounds good,” Ian nodded.

Sam turned to go and Ian began chatting politely with the next person in line.

\-----------

Forty-five minutes later, just as planned, Sam and Ian found a relatively quiet bench and sat down for over-priced hot dogs, sodas, and a chat.

“So, what’s bothering you?” Ian asked. “Anything I can do to help, or was it something I did that was the problem in the first place? You didn’t look exactly thrilled to see me here. I mean, I’m glad you’re here and willing to talk to me about it, but if I’m making you uncomfortable, please don’t be afraid to hurt my feelings. I won’t make you stay if you don’t want to.”

“Last September, after we got drinks. Did I say anything… weird?” Sam asked. “I don’t remember what all we talked about. I know we were both pretty excited about the art you did for, and I hope I didn’t get uncomfortable about it.”

“I don’t think you said anything weird,” Ian said, reflexively glancing up as he ran back through his memory. “I mean, you were a little tipsy; you told me that I was a really good artist, and that it wasn’t fair that so few studios hired 2-D animators anymore because I was wasted in whatever corporate job that I was clearly overcompensating for with this beard.”

“Oh boy, I said that?” Sam said, facepalming. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I guess this beard _is_ kind of overcompensation,” Ian said, stroking his beard. “I do have a lot of structure and rules and regulations in my job, so this beard and a weekend or two to get away and show off my art, it makes up for some of the red tape and irritating coworkers. Other than that, I wouldn’t say that you’d said anything that you should worry about. You didn’t say anything to offend me. You got maybe a little down about dating (my fault, I started us down that topic), but you didn’t say anything embarrassing about yourself or your exes. Even tipsy you were a perfect gentleman.”

“Really? Well, that’s a relief,” Sam said with a little nervous laugh. He wiped the mustard off his fingers (and his face, once he realized there was mustard on his fingers), crumpled up his napkin and hot dog wrapper, shoved them in his empty drink cup and stood up again.

“Glad I could clear things up,” Ian said, finishing his drink and following Sam’s lead. “If you wanna come back to my booth, I do have some new Howling Commandos prints for sale. I know the series was cancelled, but I’ve still got a few die-hard fans like you who come around for the art.”

“Yeah, I’m always up for good Howling Commandos art,” Sam replied. “Will I see you back here next year?”

“I sure hope so,” Ian said. “It really has been nice chatting with you.”


	6. 2014

Sam made another circuit of the tables in Artists Alley, and unless Ian had undergone a radical makeover, he was not here. He shouldn’t be so disappointed, but he was. He and Ian had begun chatting by text over the past month; Ian had had a new piece he wanted to show Sam, so he wanted to be extra sure Sam would be at AwesomeCon this year. Sam had assured him that yes, he had his registration already and would be there, rain or shine. Sam had thought they were beginning to become friends. Had he moved too quickly? Texts were difficult; what sounded innocuous to him, might sound like outright flirting to someone else. He hoped he hadn’t scared Ian off. (Part of Sam still wanted to get to know Ian better in the biblical sense of the word, but he would be quite happy with being friends, first and foremost.)

Sam must have looked a lot more lost than he felt, because a volunteer came up to him and asked him “Sir, are you looking for a specific booth? Can I help point you towards an artist?”

“Yeah,” Sam began slowly. “I was wondering if you knew where Ian Connor’s booth is this year.”

“Ian Connor,” the volunteer repeated. “Huh. Lemme ask.” He unclipped his walkie-talkie and made the request.

“He does the Avengers and Howling Commandos prints,” Sam added.

“Ian Connor?” came the crackly reply over the walkie-talkie. “Yeah, he had to cancel last-minute. Family emergency or job emergency or something.”

“He had to cancel, sorry about your luck,” the volunteer said. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks anyway,” Sam said. The volunteer turned to go, and so did he.

Sam walked and pondered. It must have been really last-minute if Ian hadn’t been able to tell him. Not even a text to say, ‘hey, I won’t be able to make it to AwesomeCon, catch you another time?’ Or, y’know, maybe Sam had scared him off. It didn’t seem _super_ likely, given how unflappable Ian seemed to be, but sometimes Sam couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. He checked his program, found a couple panels to check out, and headed back out of Artists Alley, feeling a little disappointed. He made sure he got his money’s worth, but he still went home wondering what had happened that Ian wouldn’t have been able—or maybe hadn’t wanted—to text him to let him know he wouldn’t be able to make it.

\-----------

Sam got home with Chinese take-out and flopped down on the couch to eat his dinner in front of the TV. He’d probably end up picking something on Netflix, but might as well check the news first. CNN returned from their commercial break with the promise of a live interview with the Avengers about the sudden appearance of dinosaurs in Central Park. Oh, this is gonna be good, Sam thought, tucking into his beef and broccoli.

The story started with a few shaky cell phone videos of what was clearly a triceratops strolling down the 65th Street Transverse, right past the Children’s Zoo. It was a very small triceratops, about the size of a Shetland pony, but it was still a real, live dinosaur in New York. Then a T. Rex came crashing out of the trees and the triceratops and all the people watching it screamed and began running. The cell phone footage cut away and the CNN reporter was back on screen. The T. Rex was behind her, subdued in something that looked like an electrified net, being lifted by a swarm of Iron Man drones. 

“And here we are, live, with Captain America, to discuss what just happened here. Captain, a few words about the dinosaurs? What happened? How did they get here? Have they all been contained?” the reporter asked.

“Thank you, Suzanne,” Captain America said, still a little out of breath. He was holding his helmet, which had apparently been bitten by something large, possibly the T. Rex, cracked right down the middle with tooth marks over the wing emblems. “We think we’ve got them all, but we’re checking the area to be sure. Tony Stark is taking the dinosaurs back to his lab to study them, to see if he and Doctor Banner can figure out who bioengineered them. Once we figure that out, we’ll be able to make sure this doesn’t happen again, keep the people of New York safe.”

Sam nearly choked on a broccoli when it finally clicked what had been nagging at him since Captain America came on screen. He sounded exactly like Ian. Not just, oh, he’s got a Brooklyn accent, but the tone and quality of his voice were the same. And if you shaved Ian’s beard off, Sam would _swear_ he and Captain America would have the exact same facial bone structure. Well, a dinosaur emergency in New York would certainly be a pretty good reason to cancel last-minute without even a text to explain things. He _really_ wanted to call Ian now and ask him, but if he really was Captain America, then he was busy with Avengers work and probably shouldn’t be bothered. And he probably didn’t have his phone in his suit, anyway. Sam forced himself to leave his phone where it was and to let ‘Ian’ call or text him before he asked.

Oh, but he didn’t want to wait.

\-------------

Two days later, Sam cracked and sent Ian a quick, late-night text. “Missed you at AwesomeCon, hope you’re ok and your job isn’t stressing you out too much.” He couldn’t resist adding a T. Rex emoji. If Ian was Captain America, he’d understand it.

\--------------

The next morning, Sam checked his phone. No reply, but he had sent the text off pretty late. He checked the weather, pulled his sweatshirt on, and headed out for his run.

\-----

About halfway through his run, Sam got the feeling that someone was shadowing him. He turned to glance over his shoulder and a very fast streak accelerated past him with an “On your left.” Oh, it looked like ‘Ian’ had gotten the message.

\---------

Again. “On your left” and ‘Ian’ (he should probably get used to start calling him ‘Steve’ now) blew past.

\-------

Sam was almost to the end of his run and he sensed Steve/Ian coming up behind him. “Don’t say it. Don’t you say it!” he called back to him.

Well, whatever name he was going by, he still had that same bit of sass. 

“On your left!” Steve/Ian puffed out. 

“Come on, man!” Sam pushed himself into a sprint, hoping to catch up with him.

\-----------

Steve/Ian caught up to Sam as he sat under a tree, trying to catch his breath. “Need a medic?” he asked.

“I need a new set of lungs,” Sam laughed. “Dude, you just ran like thirteen miles in thirty minutes.”

“I guess I got a late start,” Steve/Ian joked.

Yep, same sense of humor. He _had_ to be the same guy. “Oh, really? You should be ashamed of yourself. You should take another lap. Did you just take it? I assume you just took it.”

Steve/Ian held out his hand for Sam to take, helping him to his feet.

“Steve Rogers. I take it you figured it out?”

“Yeah, I kinda put it together after the dinosaurs interview. I’m a little upset that I didn’t figure it out earlier, but a beard and bad glasses make a surprisingly good disguise.”

“Yeah, I know. I was surprised too, but after that first con when no one recognized me, I decided to keep it up. It was nice to take a break from being Captain America, and just be some guy on the streets, enjoying some art and comics. And hey, I met you, so it was a real good time.”

“You mean that? And you meant everything you said as ‘Ian,’ too?”

“Of course. You’ve been a real good friend to me, Sam. When I was at the cons with you, I got to be myself, even if I couldn’t do it under my own name. I loved hanging out with you, and if you can forgive the deception, I’d love to keep hanging out with you.”

“Well, I guess I can. As long as you can do me one favor,” Sam said, a laugh coloring his voice.

“Sure, what’s the favor?” Steve asked.

“So, when I said I’m a counselor, my job’s down at the VA, and it would be _really_ cool if you could stop by any time, make me look awesome in front of the girl at the front desk. Just let me know when.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Steve grinned. His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket to check the screen. “Well, duty calls, Sam. No rest for the wicked. I’ll see you at the VA some time, and thanks for the run. If that’s what you want to call running.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?” Sam laughed.

“Oh, that’s how it is,” Steve teased back. “Good seeing you again, and again, I apologize for the deception.”

“No, I get it. You gotta be careful with your public image,” Sam said.

A flashy Corvette came to a sudden halt at the curb behind Steve. The window rolled down and the redhead behind the wheel smirked over at the two of them. “Hey fellas, either of you know where the Smithsonian is? I’m here to pick up a fossil.”

“Hilarious,” Steve said to the redhead. To Sam, “See what I mean? I have be _very_ careful with my public image. If they knew I did young, hip, fun things like comic conventions, who would Natasha get to make her fossil jokes about? You know, she’s been making this same joke for the past five years.”

“That’s because it’s still funny,” Natasha rejoined.

“No one says ‘hip’ anymore, Steve, but you go have fun saving the world,” Sam said. “Text me when you get back.”

“Will do.”


End file.
